


The Grasses

by haganenoheichou



Series: The Grasses [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Kidnapping, M/M, Torture, Witcher!Jaskier, preslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:28:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22477147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haganenoheichou/pseuds/haganenoheichou
Summary: Geralt finds Jaskier broken and unconscious in a barn on the way to Kaer Morhen. The truth of what happened to him is unimaginable and turns what Geralt thought he knew about the world onto its head.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Grasses [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1617196
Comments: 41
Kudos: 997





	The Grasses

**Author's Note:**

> So I had this idea in my head for days now and I needed to get it out. I'm thinking of making this a series.

Agony was the first thing he felt. Pure, unadulterated pain that seared through his entire body, making him scream soundlessly with scarred vocal cords as a fire forced itself through every single vein. He tried to curl in on himself, but his body refused to obey – and it felt as though he didn't have a body to begin with, so distant he was from reality. 

_Save me, please_ , he thought desperately, until his mind went completely blank, giving in to blissful unconsciousness. _Save me, Geralt._

* * *

“We foun’ him in the woods. Looks like he’s been bit by a monster or summat. Jus’ wan’ed to check with ye first, since ye was passin’ by, ‘case he wakes up and goes feral on the chickens.”

Geralt grunted in response to that, following the farmer to the barn, which was locked with a large steel bar. Whoever was in there seemed to have caused quite the commotion. The moment the Witcher had set foot in the village, he had been flocked by dozens of people, all asking him to go to Justin's place, to see the thing he had in his barn. Geralt hadn't intended to stay here, as Kaer Morhen was just a few days' ride away. Still, the villagers had promised him to chip in for quite a comfortable sum of money, and he wasn't about to turn down a well-paying job. 

They stopped in front of the barred door, and the farmer glanced at Geralt's sword meaningfully. 

“Might wanna draw that, fer our sakes. Dunno how ‘e’s been cursed.” 

Geralt leveled him with a look and simply lifted the steel bar, allowing the double doors to swing open. The musky scent the barn filled his nostrils, along with something else – a strange, almost sterile stench that brought back unpleasant memories. 

He stepped into the unlit barn, his eyes allowing him to see the figure lying face-down in a pile of hay. Human, by the looks of it, dressed in very torn-up clothing, a touch of sparkly silk still visible–

_Wait._

With a growl, Geralt tore forward, frightening the villager who had brought him here and grabbed the figure's shoulder, turning it over carefully to avoid damaging their spine more if it already was injured. His eyes widened when he saw someone he hadn't expected to run across ever since they'd had a graceless goodbye several years ago. 

“Jaskier,” he whispered, looking at the bard’s pallid face. 

“Ye _know_ 'im? 'Course ye know 'im," the villager mumbled. Geralt threw him a look over his shoulder, which made the man take a few steps back before he fled the barn entirely. 

He turned back to examine Jaskier's unconscious form. His skin was ashen, almost paper-white, covered in recently healed bruises and scars. The hue around his eyes was dark. He looked as though he hadn't eaten or slept in days before he had collapsed. His hands were a bloody mess – it looked as though he had tried to claw his way out of captivity. 

"Who did this to you?" Geralt muttered, examining the bard's injuries, a tightness in his chest. He had never seen Jaskier so small and cowed.Though by no means was he a man of tall stature, he had always had an obnoxiously large presence, even when he had slept after a long night of serenading and scandalizing the locals in some town or other. But now, it looked as though his life had been drained from him, taken by whatever horrific trial he had undergone. 

Geralt knew what he had to do, even though it was the last thing in the world Jaskier himself would voluntarily subject himself to. 

* * *

“What the _fuck_ are you doing here?”

Geralt gave the witch an unimpressed look. “Greetings to you too, Yen. I see the years have been kind to you as always.” He glanced down meaningfully into his own arms where Jaskier was perched, still slumped and out cold. 

“Oh, it’s him again,” Yennefer said with a dismissive sigh before stepping back and allowing Geralt to come inside. 

Geralt stepped into the house, examining it dispassionately. He had never pictured Yennefer to be the cute cottage in the woods type of person. Then again, she was an opportunist if there ever was one and simply adapted to whatever her environment had to offer her. It was a talent she had undoubtedly cultivated throughout decades of interchangeable fortune and misery. 

"I thought you didn't travel together anymore, after you sent him away," Yennefer said conversationally as Geralt lay Jaskier out on her dinner table with care. 

“I thought so too,” the Witcher replied, his eyes fixed on the bard’s face. “Found him in a village not far from Kaer Morhen.” 

“And you decided to play the hero again and bring him here?” 

Geralt ignored the snide comment. “Help him. Whatever the price.” 

Yennefer pursed her lips, her eyes glinting maliciously. “You know, you’re a shit negotiator.” 

“ _Whatever the price,_ ” Geralt said through gritted teeth. 

“It’s funny how he thought you never gave a rat’s arse about him, and yet here you are, all sweaty and angry,” Yennefer said with a ladylike snort before turning her attention to the unconscious bard. Whatever it was that she saw made her pale – an uncommon reaction for someone like Yennefer and something that, though it brought Geralt some satisfaction that he could shock her like this, also made him feel disturbed. 

“What is it?” 

She shushed him, leaning in to look at Jaskier’s face closer so that her nose was almost touching the skin of his cheek. 

“This can’t be right,” she muttered, frowning. 

Geralt stepped forward. “What is it?” 

“Shut up,” she snapped in a hiss before picking up Jaskier’s hand and giving it a thorough sniff. Geralt watched as she slid her gaze all over Jaskier’s injured body, still wrapped in the rags that were once his colorful clothes before she finally landed on his face again. 

He had never seen Yennefer so out of sorts, not even when she had discovered the wish he had made to the djinn. A frown between her brows, she glanced back at him, for once looking unsure. 

“I don’t understand how this is possible,” she said, her voice barely above a breath. 

“What is it?” Geralt repeated, stepping closer to see. 

“Traces of alchemy,” she said, turning back to look at Jaskier. “Serious alchemy, none of that cute little potion shit you do.” 

Geralt was so intrigued he forgot to take offense at that. 

“It’s in his entire body,” Yennefer continued. “Like his entire body was redone with alchemy.” 

“Impossible,” Geralt said, frowning. “You’re telling me he was recreated? Like a doppelganger?” 

Yennefer shook her head gravely. “It’s still him. Jaskier. But he feels different.” 

“What do you mean?” Geralt pressed, starting to get agitated. Mages and their terrible timing made for some pretty good reveals but did nothing to abate his growing anxiety. “Damn it, Yen, can you give me a straight answer for _once_?” 

Yennefer swallowed thickly before reaching out a shaking hand and lifting one of the bard’s eyelids. 

What Geralt saw there was enough to make him let out a breath of anguish. He felt his stomach clench, and his slow heart sped up but a fraction. 

Never in his long, wretched life had he thought he would have to see this again. 

“I don’t understand.” He stepped closer, lifting Jaskier’s other eyelid, his own fingers trembling finely. “It’s impossible. Everything’s been lost, there’s no way of making another one, it’s–” 

“It’s inhumane,” Yennefer said, looking slightly green. 

Suddenly, the bard let out a rattling breath, convulsing beneath their touch. Yennefer and Geralt stepped back in surprise, only to observe with horror as Jaskier’s eyelids snapped open on their own, revealing two bright gold, cat-like eyes. 

* * *

“G-Geralt?”

Relief flooded the Witcher’s entire body as he stepped forward without thinking and clasped Jaskier’s weak hand. The bard remembered him. It was still him. 

“It’s alright,” Geralt said, forcing his voice to be more soothing as if he were talking to a spooked horse. “You’re safe, Jaskier. It’s alright.” 

He watched, a lump in his throat, as tears welled in Jaskier’s unnatural golden eyes. The bard’s mouth twisted into a crying grimace as he heaved, crying silently, coming apart in Geralt’s hold in ways he’d never done before. 

“Please… don’t be a… hallucination,” Jaskier sobbed, trying to tighten his hold on Geralt’s hand. His fingers were too weak and too stiff, though, but the Witcher stepped forward, kneeling at the side of the table so that he could get closer. “Please, I…” 

“It’s alright,” he repeated, feeling so absolutely useless, so powerless to stop the pain Jaskier had gone through and was still to go through. “I’m right here, Yen’s here, you’re in her house. We’ll take care of you.” 

Yennefer let out a strangled little laugh, and Geralt ignored her, focusing entirely on the shaking, sobbing bard. 

“It was so… so _l-long_ ,” Jaskier breathed between sobs, snot and drool mixing with the grime on his face. “It was so _much_ , a-all the time, and I c-couldn’t… I couldn’t get away, I c-couldn’t–,” 

“You got away,” Geralt said quietly. In spite of himself, he reached out to touch Jaskier’s hair with his free hand, petting him like he would Roach when she was in distress. “You got away, Jas–,” 

The bard shook his head with another anguished sob. “I-I d-didn’t, they threw me out w-when they were d-done, they l-let me go.” 

“Who’s they?” Geralt asked, his anger flaring. He was of half a mind to leave Jaskier in Yennefer’s hands and go flay the skin of whomever it had been who had hurt the bard. Man or beast or neither, he would hunt them down and make them pay. 

“I d-don’t know, they w-wore masks, they w-were in a c-castle of s-some k-kind, I think,” Jaskier stammered, his sobs finally calming a little. “In a d-dungeon, that’s where they… where they…” 

"Kaer Morhen," Geralt breathed, glancing at Yennefer, who returned his look with stony resolve. "They found him a few days' ride away from Kaer Morhen." 

“But Kaer Morhen was sacked,” Yennefer said with a frown. “There’s no one left there, didn’t you tell me that the recipes were lost–,” 

“Not as lost as I had thought,” Geralt replied quietly. “Whoever it was, they had enough power to do this. And enough knowledge of alchemy to not kill him.” 

"K-kill?" Jaskier asked, tugging on Geralt's hand, which made the Witcher turn his attention back to him. "W-what do you mean, alchemy?" 

“Did they make you drink anything?” Geralt asked. Jaskier’s eyes shuttered with pain. “Jas, it’s important, _did they give you potions_?” 

After a long moment, Jaskier nodded, silent bar the occasional sniffle. “There were many potions.” 

“Did it hurt?” Geralt asked, pressing on. “When you drank the potions, did it–,” 

“It felt like I was on fire,” Jaskier said quietly, voice rough. “L-like I wanted to die, over and over.” 

Geralt ripped away from him, standing to punch a dent through Yennefer’s wall with an angry scream. The witch herself looked so enraged she could have done about the same, so she said nothing at the outburst. 

“Geralt, w-what’s happening?” Jaskier asked, trying to lift himself off the table and sit up. Yennefer placed a hand on his chest, pushing him down. Geralt glanced at him before reaching toward Yen’s boudoir table and grabbing a small hand mirror. 

He held it up to Jaskier’s face. 

There was a moment of silence before Jaskier let out a small, strangled sound, like a mouse whose tail had been stepped on. 

“W-what is this? My eyes? What did they _do_ to me?” He whispered, his gaze darting from his own startled expression to Geralt to Yennefer. “Geralt, why do my eyes look _exactly like yours_?” 

“Tell me!” He hissed when neither of them said a word. 

Geralt lowered the mirror, his hand lax around the handle. Never in his long, terrible life had he felt so completely lost. He'd broken many hearts over the decades, including his own, over and over again. Yet, the pit in his stomach that materialized when he saw the look on Jaskier's face made him feel like he was falling with no ground to catch him. 

“You were turned,” he said finally. Yen drew a sharp breath. 

"They wanted to turn you into… someone like me, and you survived," Geralt said bitterly, unable to watch Jaskier's reaction. He inclined his head, his windpipe constricted, bile rising in his throat. 

“They turned you into a Witcher.” 


End file.
